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Dragons Clash
Dragons Clash is the third hub on the missions map. It is unlocked be defeating all of the bosses in The Wizard in the Tower on normal difficulty. "It seems like destiny will not be forestalled." Encounters Forest Road *Forest Road 1 *Forest Road 2 *Forest Road 3 Field *Field Iron Mine *Iron Mine Entrance *Iron Mine 1 *Iron Mine 2 *Iron Mine 3 Streets of Bluselle *Streets of Bluselle 1 *Streets of Bluselle 2 *Streets of Bluselle 3 *Streets of Bluselle 4 *Streets of Bluselle 5 *Streets of Bluselle 6 Lake Path *Lake Path Transcript Your way continues north, roads and paths ferrying you through Rhynhart's countryside like rivers rushing towards your next destination -- drawing you onwards with their inexorable pull. Primeval forests rise before you, verdant woodlands so ancient they might have looked upon humanity in the days when man was little more than another beast, a ferocious savage untamed by the ways of civilization. They encircle you, the trees pressing forward on each side of the road like a crowd of well-wishers come to witness your march, and off you the sooting coolness of their shade. Then they fall away behind you, as the road leads on. The parth takes you through famrland, where nature has given way to cultivation, and man's ingenuity has brought forth the fruits of the earth in accordance with his will. Bucolic scenes line your way, fields of swaying crops and pastures of grazing animals stretching to the horizon. It's a journey that feels almost unnatural in its serenity, a world away from everything you've witnessed since you landed upon West Kruna's shore. It's hard to imagine that the idyllic landscapes drifting past your gaze could be part of the same country where packs of beastmen and kobolds raided and murdered, where people trembled at the unknown evil that lurked within the Black Tower. The forests and fields roll on, ignorant of, or unconcerned by, the troubles and turmoil that grip so much of the kingdom. As forest gave way to fields, so do the field sin turn give way to the ultimate expression of man's existence -- a settlement. Beneath a darkening sky the road brings you to a small market town, one of those Jaren spoke to you of. The shadowy streets are deserted, relinquished to the encroaching night. But light glows from the windows of one of the town's largest buildings, and you make for the welcoming oblongs of brightness. A half illuminated sign hands above its door, bearing a rather artistic depiction of a blue and gold helmet. Words beneath the painting, glimbbering in the same shade of gold, name both object and tavern as the Chevalier's Casque. "could get beds here," Hugh observes, and unmistakable note of suppressed anticipation in his voice. "And maybe an ale or two..." You look to Tessa, and the two of your smile. Hugh has kept his grumbling to himself since you set out from the Black Tower, perhaps wishing to ingratiate himself to his new companions lest he be left behind. But it's no secret that long marching and sleeping beneath the stars is disagreeable to him, and over the past days you occasionally looked back along the road to see him plodding along in your wake -- his face the very image of misery until he met your gaze and replaced it with a passing imitation of cherrfulness. And yet he kept on, matching your pace as best he could. Sleeping in a proper bed will do him good, and there's no sense in marching on for a few more hours tonight. Besides, it's a prime opportunity to spread the Kasan name a little further.. So you open the tavern door, revealing an almost oppressive rustic barroom. Vines have been arranged along the walls, bearing bunches of wax grapes. Strings of onions and garlic dangle from the ceiling and hand down alongside the blazing fireplace, as though to ward off vampires or alliumphobes. Ancient horseshoes, a shepherd's crook, and other hallmarks of rural life decorate the room, giving you the impression that its décor was contrived for the benefit of visiting merchants and other travelers who might be charmed by such a façade. Half a dozen men and women sit at wooden tables thick enough to serve as frotress walls. They're clad in rough peasant's grab, the colors of their jerkins and breeches indistinguishable from the dirt and stains which adorn them from the day's labor. A burly man wearing an apron leans against the bar, one hand twisting the end of a ginger moustache that listens with absorbed soup or ale, the other slowly pushing a grey cloth around the surface of the bar -- causing the dirt to migrate in lieu of cleaning it. In time-honored fashion, the sound of pleasant banter dies away the moment you enter. It's replaced with an interrogative silence as all eyes turn to scrutinize the newcomers. It occurs to you that the town must receive very few outsiders when it's not a market day. And the sight of a band of armed men and women is herhaps somewhat perturbing to them. There's a metallic clink as Tessa taps the shield on your back. Understanding her meaning, you pull it free from its resting place and display its crest to the room before you. "I believe Jaren Malcarius Tullian may have sent word of me." The denizens sat at the tables continue to stare, though now at the shield instead of at you. If any of them recognize it, they gave no sign. But the barkeep's exclamation draws all eyes to him." "Sacrebleu!" It's an oath you recognize, though you've only ever seen it written down before now. The word is from the regional language, now eclipsed by the common tongue for most purposes -- but enduring with unshakable tenacity for curses, profanities, and other such things. It marks the man as a former chevalier, a member of Rhynhart's knightly class. The most famous of those chivalric orders used the word as a war cry, a referance to the resplendent blue panoplies their wore in battle. It occurs to you that the helmet you saw depicted on the tavern was in their colors. The man ducks down behind the bar. "When they do that," Hugh remarks, "they usually come back holding a club with spikes on it. In Titar we call that closing time. Either you sod off quick, or your head gets split open. But intead of remerging brandishing a weapon, the barkeep remains out of sight for several moments. There's a sound of stone scraping against stone, a grunt, and a thud. At last he rises, a triumphant grin on his face. "He's the Kasan!" the barkeep says. The men and women turn to you, and stare at your shield once more -- as though seeking some hidden epiphany there. Then a dozen awestruck eyes rise from the emblazoned crest to your face, and the spectacle is so comical that you only just managed to suppress your laughter. "That I am," you reply. You pass your shield to Tessa, stride over to the nearest table, and reach into your pack. "My companions and I have come from the Black Tower." The widening of eyes confirms that even this far north people have heard of the tower and the malevolent presence which festered therein. Good... It means what's coming next will have more impact... You pull a small bag out from your pack, undo the string, and upend it over the table. There's a collective gasp from your audience as its contents come tumbling out. "The demonist who dwelled there is dead, and I offer these as proof of the deed." The townspeople crowd around the table, gazing in fearful wonder at an imp's hand, a hellhound's jaw, and other such grisly trophies. Tessa gives a quiet yet pointed cough, no doubt relishing the success of her stratagem. It was her idea to take pieces of the demons, treated with magic to render them harmless -- something to show people what you met on your travels. An artifact is worth a thousand fine words, she told you. And from the reaction you're witnessing, she was right. Category:Dragons Clash Category:Missions